Sweat-slicked and sated, they clung to each other in the wreckage of his bed. A good thing they’d warded the chamber to silence, else they’d have Rumm banging the doors down in the belief they were being murdered.

Morgan kissed her, lightly, then rested his head on her breasts. She could feel his heart thudding, keeping time with hers.

“Barl… my beloved…” His sigh fanned her damp skin. “I never knew how starved I was until you became my feast.”

She roamed her fingers down his spine, relishing the feel of taut skin and muscle. Breathing him in, she felt the slow burn of fresh arousal.

“And I was a paper woman, until you set me on fire.”

Quizzical, he shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she said, laughing. “I’m forged anew in your flames, Morgan. The old Barl Lindin is a drift of ash and I’ve taken her place. I am gold and iron. Everything that is made beautiful in conflagration, that’s me.”

He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. Kissed her breasts and her belly. “That’s very true. Barl, thank you for my father’s clock.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned it since that night. “I was afraid that once you’d had time to consider what I’d done, you’d be angry. I thought you might think it an impertinence and punish Rumm for overstepping his bounds.”

“No. No.” Morgan stretched out beside her, entwining his fingers with hers. “How could you think that of me?”

“How could I not think it? I didn’t know you then.”

Rolling his head on the pillow, he stared into her eyes. “And you know me now?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “As I know myself.”

He raised their linked hands. Kissed each of her knuckles. “I never knew myself until I met you. That other man with my face, he is a stranger.”

The simple declaration brought her to tears. When he pulled her close she hid against him, undone by happiness. He loved her again, slowly, like a priest worshipping his goddess. Selfishly she let him, accepted each caress like a tribute, each gasping wave of pleasure as though it were her due. At last, when he’d wrung from her so many shudders she was sure she must die, he took his own shuddering release.

Humbled, she framed his face with her hands. “I love you, Morgan Danfey. You are the lord of my heart.”

He stared at her, silent, as tears brimmed in his eyes. And then he smiled. “And you are my lady… until time itself ends.”

For a moment, one single, terrible moment, she couldn’t breathe through her fear. Don’t die, he’d begged her, the night they crypted his father, and she’d promised she wouldn’t, promised him knowing it was a lie.

Unless… unless… is there a way to defeat death?